Thespian Glasses
by striped-jaguar
Summary: Severus Snape is a great actor - he can lie to his headmaster, lie to his master, and lie to himself. Good for him, really! [One shot, rated for swears, sorry.]


Thespian Glasses 

Notes: Yeah…well. It started off as something to get me the hell out of my writing BLOCK, and it ended up like this, and I thought: sure, why not? Spread a little melancholy around. So here it is. Now don't get me wrong, I fully respect actors and their careers, because this is more of a venting thing, so don't think I'm crapping out actors and actresses or anything, because I'm not. Hey?

Oh, and be careful, there's cursing. There's no pairing, either, if you were wondering. It's just me being silly. XD  

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, the Oscars, Globes, Guilds, and all that North American junk. But February 29th, people, if you want to see the gala in all its glory. (It's true!! I have no life.) 

So, read, enjoy!

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            Severus Snape knew that he was especially gifted at two things in life: the art of Potion making, and the art of acting. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, there are the straight facts – and don't let anything tell you otherwise. 

            Severus Snape thinks he rather deserves ten mini golden statuettes clasping their cold, non-existent hearts, and seventeen globes a-shining, with or without the small bearer to lift them, and a hundred million dark plaques, spotless and smooth, hanging on his wall. His name in lights. He thinks, sometimes, when the taste of whiskey is hot in his mouth, that he may've been a famous Broadway entertainer in a past life – or a famed comedian – or a politician – or something, really, and it's not so much a comforting thought as he hoped it to be. 

            Severus Snape has been putting on quite a show, and still is, really, his whole life - a regular three act tragedy. 

_Act I: Potions _

Everyone can see that Snape's in a foul mood today. His hair looks extra greasy in the subdued lights of the dungeon, and his scowl is just waiting for some innocent to walk by, and –snap-! It's going to be one of those days where anything done by a Gryffindor and some things done by the Slytherins are going to result in massive point loss all around. He looks ready to break someone's skull. 

            Severus woke up feeling rather good, thank you for asking: that dratted sun was blocked by abysmal clouds, his favourite type of day, his headache from the night previous was gone, good riddance, and the coffee was hot, strong and perfect. It was starting off to be a great day, but Severus knew better than that! Of course actors have read over their scripts and memorized their lines beforehand. 

            Enter the students, and the spectators await. 

            Not ten minutes in, 

            "Longbottom, turn that blade around before you stab someone and I'm left cleaning after your bloody mess while you're fainting in the Hospital Wing."

            "Yes sir," this young extra says. He has a good role too, and has skill for the arts, but it's all hidden potential. Severus wonders how long it'll take to be found out. 

            "And ten points from Gryffindor for disregarding classroom safety."

            The outcries begin at once:

"Sir, we were just about to use that knife!"

            "Sir, that's unfair, Neville's really careful – well, no, but nobody walks near him in Potions anyways!"

            "Sir, look! Malfoy's desk is cluttered with knives hanging over the edge, he's freakin' doing it on purpose! He wants to trip someone!"

            Snape takes his cue. 

            "Silence, all of you! Don't bother looking for sympathy with your pathetic whining! Do none of you think I can see when an instrument is placed in a hazardous position and when it is not? Fifty points from Gryffindor for disrespecting a teacher!"

            Snape turns to the supporting actor. 

            "And detention, Potter, for making such an accusation of a fellow student. Here, tonight at nine sharp. Don't be late. And _don't_ provoke me, Mr. Weasley, or I shall place you somewhere even you couldn't stand. Back to work." 

            The class is silent. Severus delivers the closing line:

            "And five points from Slytherin. Clean up you desk, Draco." 

            // _Four stars, the critics rave! So convincing! It's like he _really is_ a biased bastard!! And that little one – with the cute glasses – keep an eye and a half on him, he's going to be huge one day!! //_

            _Act II: Dinner _

            His arm was burning. Again. Break a leg, Severus, but not before you rip off that ugly mark. Too bad it was physically impossible for him without using magic to spit on it properly. 

            Dumbledore, the director, reads in between the lines. 

            "Dear me, you look a bit pale, Severus, is it that nasty flu bug that's been going around lately? Now now, don't protest – you're free to take the evening off and get a full night's rest. Don't complain, Severus, I insist. You really push yourself too hard, my boy."

            Snape knows his place in things. 

            "Yes, thank you Headmaster."

            He puts down his fork, wipes his mouth, blows his nose though he can breathe just fine, stands, and exits the Great Hall gracefully and quietly, just like he should. 

            Dumbledore watches him with worried eyes and ponders about the little control, if any; he has over the next sequence. 

            // _Scene change, a new setting. //_

A mass of people enter, wings left and right, all in uniform costume: white masks and black robes – their footsteps move to a beat of a drum, and their robes trail blood. Spotlight, please, on centre stage. 

            "No new events? How can that be, Severus?"

            The Prima Donna thinks he ought to get all the flowers, but his reviews are not always the best – he's very talented, oh yes, very, but has a bit of a temper, they say – watch out for that one – bald and with the red eyes, he's not too nice. 

            "I only deliver the news, my Lord," Severus murmurs as he bows, trying not the think of the odour that gargantuan snake is giving off. Where the devil has that thing been crawling in? 

            "Yes – yes, I suppose you are right. That good Ministry _has_ been giving our favourite Headmaster some trouble lately."

            Severus Snape forces himself to laugh with the rest. 

            "Very well, Severus. But do keep your senses open, and keep me updated, hmm?"

            "Of course, anything the Master wants." Flawless. 

            "Wonderful. _Crucio_." 

            This was not part of the original scene that Severus had practiced, but that's alright – he's good at improv, too. Even if the screams are not intentional, Severus makes them extra loud and painful, a delight to Riddle's ears. 

            _// Oh, what a star!! What superb skills, it's like he's actually in pain! He'll be nominated for sure this year, the Academy will love it! // _

_            Act III: Stuck _

Snape takes drugs, like many actors, and they help him feel better, and it's great that he didn't give a rat's ass about addiction. 

            Of course healing potions, Pepper Ups, and booze were all legal – but sometimes Severus enjoys the cheap thrill of drinking vile things right under Dumbledore's bespectacled nose. He thinks he has the right. 

            "How was it?" Severus was asked. 

            "Boring," Snape lies, "nothing new to report, but McCabe's wife is pregnant." 

            "Another future Hogwarts student! How marvelous!"

            Snape grunts – not much pleases him these days. 

            "And you, my dear boy," Dumbledore says soothingly, "how are _you_?"

            Severus hates this scene; he really does, with all his heart. But actors do not always have the luxury of choosing the role they play – they merely perform it. 

            "I'm fine, Albus. He skipped me tonight." 

            Dumbledore is a badgering old coot, but it's convenient that he knows when to shut up and bid Severus good night. 

            Snape arrives at the Slytherin corridor at 11:25 pm, and finds Harry Potter asleep, back propped up against the statue near the Potions classroom. 

            Snape nudges him. 

            "Potter, wake up."

            "Mmmah?" Harry says, blinking Lily's eyes several times and rubbing them with James' hands. 

            "Sorry professor," he mutters, "I guess I dozed off." 

            "Hmpf," Snape acknowledges, "we're going to have to reschedule your detention, Potter, I'm too tired tonight." 

            Harry is frustrated upon hearing that, but Snape is tolerant. He knows that it's just a way to ventilate his excess anger on something trivial so he does not resort to more dangerous methods to relieve stress, although Snape's not sure it's working as well as it should. Harry Potter is a rising phenomenon, and his closet is already jammed packed with fleshy skeletons and roaring demons and green things better left forgotten, and also sixteen hundred masks – which Severus thinks he polishes on a daily basis to keep them in good working order. 

            "Oh, so I stayed here for two hours in the damp cold for you to tell me to go back? This isn't fair! I haven't finished my homework, and tomorrow you're just going to give me another detention for it!"

            "Precisely why we're going to have your lesson moved to that date, Mr. Potter! If you care to remember, I have other duties besides teaching a raging delinquent how to reflect curses! Go back to Gryffindor Tower and practice your meditation." 

            "What, don't I at least get some poor excuse, professor? You always demand one from me." 

            Snape sighs. "I was called to duty." 

            Harry smirks. "I know _that_ – I _was_ asleep. I saw you, sir, and all your pretty dogs too." 

            "What??" Snape is suddenly furious – beyond it. This boy just had absolutely no respect and no self-control, why didn't anyone teach him any boundaries?! Snape wanted to choke him. "I told you to learn to close your mind, Potter!"

            Harry smiled then. This one was a mask – it was too bright and shining not to be. "Well, I sure did, professor! I can close my mind at will – and it's all thanks to you!"

            Snape shoves the sarcasm out of the way. "Don't give me that attitude, Potter, it doesn't become you. You couldn't have seen that meeting tonight; I know you're lying about something." 

            "It's because I wanted to, you stupid git!!" Harry screams, standing up and livid. "Don't you get it? I'm fucking tired of this! You give me no credit at all! I'm a lot stronger than you think – I learnt to open _and_ close my mind whenever I want to, by _myself_, because I wanted to, you senile retard!!"

            In all his exuberance, Harry has cracked his mask. Careful, sweetie, those aren't so easy to make. 

            "Then WHY THE HELL would you WANT to?!" Snape roars – Potter can't leave well enough alone, and it's fucking killing Severus. 

            Both have slipped out of their usual roles now – into something new and fresh and dynamic and full of energy – it's beautiful, and the whole theatre is eating it up. 

            "BECAUSE I WAS WORRIED ABOUT YOU!!"  

            -- Harry falls silent and doesn't bother to catch his mask as it falls to the ground and splits down the middle. 

            The audience is perched at the edge of their seats. 

            Snape thinks. And looks. And thinks back. He knows his place, no question about that…and has learnt to accept it? Has he? He knows that changing the script now halfway through the play would be disastrous – ruining everything, every minute detail that Severus has scraped together from the bottom of his shoe, everything that made up his life – since that day when Snape saw James Potter for the first time on the Hogwarts Express. Severus could wipe his slate clean, but he's not prepared to do that, not quite yet. So: 

            "No need, Potter," Snape says coolly. Severus is so good he doesn't even need masks anymore. "I assure you that I'm capable of taking care of myself. But if I'm ever in the mood for a pity shoulder to weep on, I'll be sure to call you, I'm sure you must have experience in that area." 

            Harry's lower lip quivers. "Fine," he spits out, picking up his mask invisibly, taking the divided pieces and pushing them back together. He puts it on, and he _is_ fine. "Sorry for keeping you up so late, professor."

            He turns to leave, and when he's all the way to the staircase, he turns and shouts "I fucking HATE YOU!!" loud enough for all his personal ghosts to hear, and runs up the steps. 

            "The feeling's mutual, Potter," Snape says much more quietly, because Harry can't hear him now anyway. 

            _// Ah, now, see, there's a bona fide actor – remarkable, isn't it, how he can even fool himself! He's a genius – nothing less!! //_

            The audience stands and gives their stars a standing ovation. 

            Severus Snape wonders at night, alone, almost dead, that if he's not so much an actor as a liar – and tries, tries to differentiate between the two. 

            _The scene ends, bow, and the curtains are drawn. Don't let it get to you, love, the show must go on. _

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Review please? Just because I'm curious. 


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